


november

by aebirdie



Series: sad spideytorch [2]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Death and Revival, M/M, Peter Parker Is Sad, cursing, descriptions of violence, like i cried writing it, like really heavy angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-09 17:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20494187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aebirdie/pseuds/aebirdie
Summary: The day Johnny died; Peter felt nothing. Sue, Ben, and Reed were all crying, but Peter had sat there, in complete shock. It wasn’t something that he truly believed, like how some people didn’t believe evolution was real. The facts were right there, but Peter couldn’t see past it. Johnny Storm wasn’t dead, because superheroes don’t die.Legends never die,Johnny had said once, slightly tipsy on the Statue of Liberty, swaying to music that wasn’t there.





	november

**Author's Note:**

> :(

The day Johnny died; Peter felt nothing. Sue, Ben, and Reed were all crying, but Peter had sat there, in complete shock. It wasn’t something that he truly believed, like how some people didn’t believe evolution was real. The facts were right there, but Peter couldn’t see past it. Johnny Storm wasn’t dead, because superheroes don’t die. _Legends never die,_ Johnny had said once, slightly tipsy on the Statue of Liberty, swaying to music that wasn’t there.

He had expected a sky message that night, even though Sue said he was dead. Even though Reed confirmed it. Even though Ben shook and sobbed. Peter waited for him, for Johnny, for something. For a _meet me at the usual place_ message, broadcasted for everyone to see. For a boy made of fire to light up the sky.

He had waited all night, for something that wasn’t ever going to come, because Johnny was dead and gone, and Sue was organizing his funeral. And Peter told her he would go, to support her and maybe even say something, if he felt like it. He didn’t feel like it, though, but Sue had always been convincing, even in grief. 

The second day without Johnny, Peter tore the bathroom door off its hinges. He hadn’t meant to, but he had just gotten so angry. Johnny had burned up his shower curtain, once, and Peter tore that off too, leaving the curtain in the tub and the door on the floor.

The third day without Johnny, Peter stayed in bed, curled up in a pair of sweatpants Johnny had been forced to ditch mid-hotdog so they could go fight the Rhino. Peter had grabbed them, after, while Johnny talked to the press. He had meant to return them, but never had the time.

And Peter wore them, looking through the #RIPJohnnyStorm tag on Twitter. A lot of people mourned for him, but they didn’t know him the way Peter knew him. It made him angry, these people claiming to love Johnny when they didn’t _know_ him. He was a god to them, but he was just Johnny to Peter. They knew a different Johnny than the one Peter loved, but no one knew Peter’s Johnny like Peter did. They didn’t know the goofball Peter knew, the one who flew up to the Statue of Liberty every night to see Peter, who brought hotdogs, who kissed Peter once when he was wasted, because those memories belonged to Peter and no one else. No one else could take Peter’s Johnny away from him.

The fourth day without Johnny, he cried, still wearing Johnny’s pants, clutching an old sock to his chest, one of those patterned ones that Johnny owned. It was ugly, so fucking ugly, with dark blue stripes over a bright turquoise. Peter had stolen it so that Johnny wouldn’t have one sock to complete the pair, but he mismatched his socks, making them look more awful. He never wore them outside, though, just when Peter came over to play video games, to annoy him.

He didn’t like that all he had left of Johnny was an old sock and a pair of sweatpants too big for him, and a couple of memories that he couldn’t bring himself to think about.

The fifth day was Johnny’s funeral. Peter went in his Spider-Man suit, holding Sue’s hand as he stood with the Fantastic Four, at the symbolic hole in the ground. There wasn’t a body to bury, just an idea of a person. Just Johnny’s presence, the memory of his smile, his body warmth. His lips on Peter’s, that one drunken night where Johnny had kissed him and forgot all about it the morning after. That was what Peter buried, in the dark dirt of Johnny’s grave, and Johnny kissing him was what he thought about when he threw a rose into the grave. _Legends never die_, Peter thought bitterly, watching Dr. Richards cast his rose.

Peter tried to not cry when Crystal cast a rose. Selfishly, he hated her. Hated the way that Peter’s Johnny differed from Crystal’s Johnny. Hated that Johnny had whispered _sorry_ after they had kissed, hated that he didn’t remember the next morning. And he hated how he loved Johnny, had loved Johnny since high school, since Johnny had come to his school and stood up and given that stupid speech, hated that teenage Peter had been inspired by Johnny, but that was Johnny. Always inspiring, always there, always living, always breathing, always at Peter’s side. Always writing messages in the sky, even though Peter had given him the number to his burner phone.

Peter thinks of the day he figured out he loved Johnny as Sue speaks, cameras focusing on her. It had been raining, and Johnny was steaming as the drops of water touched his suit. Peter had been cold, but fine, because he never really minded the rain on patrol, but Johnny was used to heat and fire, and rain was different.

Johnny was complaining, because it was cold and he was getting wet, and then Peter’s teeth began to chatter, because it was late November and it _was_ cold. It wasn’t nearly as cold as Johnny made it out to be, though.

Johnny had stopped talking when Peter began to shiver, and had wrapped his arms around him, using his body heat to warm Peter up, sitting behind Peter on the ledge of a rooftop like they had all the time in the world.

Then, Johnny had pressed his forehead into the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter knew he was screwed, because he had been holding a small candle for Johnny for a while, but now it was a full-blown flame, because Johnny kept on pressing closer to Peter, even when it wasn’t eleven pm on a rainy night. Because Peter’s Johnny was a version of Johnny not too many people got to see, because it was the version that was vulnerable, that was open, that was _Peter’s_. But now Peter’s Johnny was a coffin-shaped hole in the ground, only a headstone to mark the spot.

Distantly, he hears crying, and he realizes that it’s him, sobbing uncontrollably as Dr. Richards pats his back awkwardly, but that just reminds him of Uncle Ben, and he bends down to the ground, feeling fifteen and lost again, but there’s no Johnny Storm to come to his school and give a fancy speech and inspire him to stand up again, because Johnny’s not there anymore. He’s not even on Earth anymore, and Peter feels so fucking lost without him, like Johnny was the compass guiding Peter down the right path.

He knows that Johnny died a hero, because Johnny was a hero, and he wouldn’t have died without a fight. Selfishly, because it seemed that Peter was doing a lot of selfish things lately, he wished that Johnny had run. Run from the fight that brought him down, and Peter knows what they say about superheroes.

Superheroes fight until their last fight, and you never know it’s your last fight until it is, until you’re bleeding out onto the pavement and some asshole in a neon suit is grinning over you. You fight and get knocked down, and then you pick yourself back up, because that’s part of being a hero, but there comes a day where you can’t pick yourself up anymore, when it’s you versus an army and backup isn’t coming, and the army knocks you down, and you can’t pick yourself back up.

Peter is hoping for his last fight, so that he doesn’t have to think about Johnny dying, because he’ll be dead himself, and there’s no heaven for Jews, but an eternity with Johnny would be nice. Eternity with Johnny would be something Peter could get behind. Nights spent on rainy rooftops, Johnny pressed up against Peter’s back, Johnny whispering about nothing, Peter shivering, but not from the cold, when Johnny pulls him closer.

The night he fell in love could have lasted an eternity. That night could have been Peter’s last fight and he would have died happy.

But now, Johnny’s gone, and he’s sad and alone, sitting on the grass at Johnny’s funeral, crying so hard noise doesn’t escape his mouth.

He gets up and pushes through the crowd, knowing what headlines Jameson is going to come up with as he leaves Johnny’s funeral, but he can’t be there anymore, because there isn’t a place he can stand to stay at if Johnny’s not there, teasing him. There isn’t an Earth he’d stay at if Johnny wasn’t there. He’d even stay at that weird one, where Johnny was _Jack_ and married to Dr. Richards. He’d stay there for Johnny, because he’d follow Johnny anywhere, even to places where Johnny loved other people, because Peter had dealt with that already. The slew of girls in Johnny’s record had toughened Peter’s shell. Just being able to see Johnny again, to hold him and stitch up his wounds and eat his poor choice in cereal was enough. Having Johnny was enough.

But Johnny was gone. Everyone Peter loved left, or died, or decided to fuck off and never talk to him again. Peter could handle the third option, if it meant that Johnny was still here, still breathing, still pulling pranks on Ben. Johnny’s chest could be rising and falling, taking in oxygen and turning it into carbon dioxide, and Peter would be content, because he wouldn’t have a fucking tombstone. He could hate Peter, he could tell the world Peter’s secret identity, he could run off with MJ and create ten gorgeous children and Peter would be happy, because he would be breathing, and alive. They could be worst enemies and Peter would be content, because Johnny was the sort of guy you didn’t stop loving, didn’t stop missing, didn’t stop needing.

There’s a large crowd outside the cemetery, and he walks through them too, because he feels too shaky to swing away.

A girl grabs his upper arm, and he turns to her, too tired to fight, too tired to tell her to let go. He’s so tired.

“I loved him,” she says, and he knows her. One of Johnny’s exes. Julia, with the auburn hair and grey sweaters, fuzz all over Johnny when they hung out after he had seen her. Peter had pretended to not be jealous. She got five months with him, of cuddling and sex and flying, and Peter got a drunken kiss and long years of loving him in silence.

“I loved him too,” Peter tells her, and she lets go, nodding. She knows, he thinks, knows of the kind of love only people who love Johnny Storm can hold in their hearts. It’s fucking endless, is what it is, like a bottomless pit. It’s a kind of love where you just keep falling, until you wake up one day, grasping at your sheets, because you fell asleep in his old sweatpants, wearing an ugly, sweaty sock, and your bathroom door is on the hallway floor, because you can’t bring yourself to pick it up, and MJ brings you soup, which is so sad in ways you can’t begin to explain. She doesn’t even ask about the bathroom door, and you think about the one time he heated up the doorknob so you would burn your hand, as she pours soup into a bowl and then leaves, sad as you’ve ever seen her.

You take two sips of the soup and think about how Johnny overheated everything, so hot you had to bounce hotdogs in between your hands when you met up, and you think about how there were nights where you would wake up and Johnny would be there, hugging you tightly, because there had been a fight on the news and you were in a bad shape.

“It’s hard to accept that he’s gone,” Julia says, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way Gwen used too, and Peter feels tears track down his cheeks. “He’s like the center, of everything, you know? And it’s hard to go on when the guy that lit up your world is gone.”

“Believe me, I get it,” Peter tells her. “More than most can say, I think.”

“Man, he really loved you,” Julia says, and he feels bad about making a voodoo doll of her that one time and giving it to the “witch” in his apartment building. “Talked about you all the time, even when we had just had sex, or were at the movies, or at dinner, or with my parents. You were always there.”

“Johnny’s the kind of person that sticks with you,” Peter says, because he’s trying to comprehend Johnny talking about him after making love to this beautiful woman. He wonders if Julia’s got a voodoo doll of him too, pins sticking out of weird places. Peter disposed of hers properly, via internet instructions. He was too embarrassed to ask the witch in his building for help, because she had laughed when he had asked for the doll back.

Julia nods. “Not really someone you forget, I think.”

_When did you realize, that you loved him?_ Peter almost asks. He wants to ask, desperately, because she gets it, even though she loved him for five months and he’s loved Johnny for years. _For me, it was in the rain, because he’s a cliché kind of guy_, Peter almost says. _And that was the day I realized I would die for him, what was your day? When did you know?_ He wants to trade war stories, or something, because she knows, she understands.

“Make sure you make it home safe,” he says instead, and he keeps walking, people reaching out to touch him. He should’ve worn a jacket, or something. Or a suit, and just the mask. He feels exposed, walking like this.

A child waves at him, and he waves back. Kid’s got blonde hair, like Johnny, like Gwen, and he knows, why Johnny became a hero. So that little blonde-haired kid wouldn’t die. So people wouldn’t die.

_He died for you_, Peter thinks. _He died for all of you._

He goes to work on the seventh day without Johnny. Regular work, at the ESU lab, not for the _Bugle_, because he can’t take pictures of heroes right now, he just can’t. Not when Johnny isn’t around to pose for the camera.

He doesn’t do anything at work, not really, just sits in his chair and thinks about the last time he saw Johnny alive. The stupid kiss had happened three days before Johnny died, and the last time Peter saw him was the next morning, for lunch, where Johnny told him he didn’t remember anything from the previous night. Peter was so upset, he avoided Johnny the day after, even after the sky message and a dozen texts.

He had seen him the morning of the day he died, though, signing something for a fan as Peter walked down the street. He had turned around and walked the other way, just to avoid Johnny, like an idiot. He should’ve gotten into his suit and apologized for being weird, because the last memory of Peter Johnny had was Peter ignoring his messages. Like a dumbass.

MJ texts him reminders to eat, every couple of hours, and he tries, he does, but his sandwich reminds him of Sue’s bad cooking and Johnny’s complaining about said cooking, and Johnny’s smile when Sue crosses her arms in exasperation. Even working reminds him of Johnny, of Johnny bursting into Dr. Richards’ lab to bother him and Peter while they worked. Of Johnny’s excitement about space travel. Johnny’s arms, forming a Y like a cheerleader in flight.

He’s sent home after dropping a third beaker, thinking about how Johnny would let the TV remote slip from his fingers when he got excited.

He wonders if Julia is ripping his voodoo doll’s heart from its chest, because it feels like she is, or someone is. God, maybe.

He wonders what Johnny would say, right now. Probably some dumb, web-related joke, that Peter would think about for hours afterward.

There’s a Peter-sized valley in his bed that he settles into easily, plugging in his phone and searching up Johnny’s name on Twitter. There are pictures of him everywhere, viral tweets about how he saved people, pictures of Peter sitting on the grass at his funeral, head in his hands, and there are fan accounts speculating about spideytorch, while others are yelling about being respectful and not making Johnny’s death about a dumb ship, and they’re right. Johnny’s death should be Johnny-focused, not about Peter. No matter how hard it is for Peter to move, to breathe, to speak. He feels sick and empty, like Johnny’s death has taken the best parts of him and left him with nothing, just the part of Peter that would die for Johnny. That’s what’s left of Peter, the part that would have flown into the sun for the boy he loved.

He forces himself to go on patrol, even though he’s so exhausted he can barely swing. He sits instead, five blocks over, letting his spidey-sense do the patrolling for him, and he can’t even look at the Statue of Liberty right now. He shuts his eyes and tries to forget.

His spidey-sense doesn’t go off for Sue, because Sue is a friend. He wishes that it had warned him, though.

“He’s left you his spot,” Sue says, mouth drawn in a thin line. Peter’s first thought is that Johnny’s passing gift to Peter is a spot in some random parking garage, so that Peter can take care of his cars. That’s such a Johnny thing to do, really.

“But I don’t have a car,” Peter says weakly.

“On the team,” Sue says. Her voice lacks any sort of emotion, and he recognizes it. It’s the same one he hears from himself, when MJ comes over, bearing soup and asking questions. “Welcome to the Fantastic fucking Four.” She turns invisible and leaves, and his shoulders begin to shake. He sucks in a breath, lifting his mask up to gather fresh air as he cries.

This is typical Johnny, leaving Peter his spot on the team. Making sure Peter is okay, after his death. Peter’s not sure what Johnny would want, if he made a will in case his last fight loomed upon him.

He swings home, making sure to tug his mask down. He avoids the rooftop from that cold November night, the heat of Johnny lingering in places he had been.

He could feel Johnny, sometimes, warming him up, forehead pressed against Peter’s neck, but only in the early morning, before Peter’s had a chance to remember what happened. Before Peter realizes that the boy he loves is gone, and all that accounts for him are buried roses and a tombstone.

It takes him two weeks to gather up the courage to go see the Fantastic Four. He takes the elevator up, because he would usually climb through Johnny’s window and Johnny isn’t around to open it for Peter anymore.

Ben slumps at the table, eyes looking down at his hands, and Sue drinks five cups of coffee before Peter says anything. She looks tired, even with the coffee, and he guesses that she’s using it to replace Johnny’s warmth. He’s been doing the same thing, but with a dozen blankets and a pair of old sweatpants.

“Where’s Dr. Ri—” Peter asks, but Sue cuts him off, rubbing her temple.

“In his lab,” she says, and she gets up to get more coffee.

“Been having a rough time of it,” Ben mumbles. “We all have, without Johnny.”

Ben’s Johnny is different than Peter’s Johnny, because Ben and Johnny were family. The kind of family that lived together and teased each other and pulled pranks and loved each other through anything. Sue’s Johnny was different still, because she was his older sister, and she loved him, the kind of love that doesn’t break, but they all loved Johnny like that.

“There’s no FF without him,” Sue mumbles. “I’m sorry, but I can’t fight without him. I just can’t.”

“I get it,” Peter says.

Sue draws a shaky breath, finally setting her mug down. “He believed in you. A lot.”

Peter smiles, but he knows it’s not reaching his eyes. “I believed in him, too.”

“He just can’t be dead,” Sue whispers. “He’s Johnny.”

They sit in silence an hour more, and then Peter goes to his room, just to look. Just to try and find him again, in a cold room that used to be hot, because without Johnny, this was a cold, cruel world. There was no torch to light it.

Peter lays down on Johnny’s bed without thinking, reminding himself of all the nights he had accidentally crashed here, instead of heading home. Reminding himself of Johnny, in those dumb sweatpants that Peter put on at home, in his socks that he wore only to annoy Peter. Of his smile, his laugh, his stupid shiny hair and his jawline and perfect, pretty girlfriends.

Of his funeral, of the roses. Crystal. Julia. All of the other women who loved Johnny like Peter does, but Johnny loved them back, because those stupid theorists were right, he was in love with Johnny, but Johnny didn’t love him back. Johnny loved him back in the fanfiction of them Peter occasionally read, but that wasn’t real life. This was, and real life had decided that Peter Benjamin Parker had the worst luck ever. Fucking Parker Luck.

He nudged off his shoes and tucked himself into Johnny’s covers. Normally, the top part of his suit would be off, mask rolled up, Johnny’s arm thrown over Peter’s waist. Peter would be too hot for the covers, but not overheated. Just comfortable, just Johnny and Peter, falling asleep in Johnny’s room, no enemies breaking down the door, no questioning looks. Johnny and Peter, against the world.

Peter wasn’t too sure that he and Johnny were in the same universe anymore, let alone world. Peter was here, grounded and waiting, crying to himself under Johnny’s sheets, and Johnny was dead, his FF suit probably framed like some sort of trophy. Peter imagines Johnny’s head on a stake and feels like vomiting.

He tucks his hands under his head and stares blankly at a jacket Johnny’s left strewn around. He remembers saving up for that jacket, to give Johnny for Christmas. They had exchanged gifts at the top of the Statue of Liberty, at midnight, and Peter remembers wishing he had brought mistletoe, or something, so that Johnny would kiss him, but Johnny had apologized profusely the last time he kissed Peter, so that wouldn’t have gone well. But he had liked the jacket, even though it had cost Peter two dozen photos of whoring himself out to the _Bugle_. The look on Johnny’s face had been worth it.

It takes another three weeks for Peter to go back to Johnny’s room, and it’s after a fight with the Rhino, a particularly nasty one, with scrapes and bruises and long cuts, but at least the bastard was in custody.

Peter wouldn’t have minded, if that had been his last fight. MJ would have minded, and Aunt May, but not Peter, because there wasn’t a familiar blonde face grinning at him when he opens the window. Just that stupid jacket, and rumpled sheets, from the last time Peter had come for a nice visit.

But now he was bleeding onto the floor of Johnny’s room, and there wasn’t someone else to help him, no warm hands to catch him as he fell.

His body made a muffled sound when he hit the carpet, but Sue came anyways, probably still awake.

“Jeez, kid,” Sue says, and she turns him so that he’s on his back. “It’s Peter, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, and he ignores that she knows who he is, just for a little while. He’ll think about asking later, when he’s not bleeding half to death in her dead little brother’s room.

“Listen, Peter,” Sue says, wrapping bandages around his torso. He winces when she tubs on the bandages to tighten them, but she moves on to the gash in his shoulder. “You’re part of the Fantastic Four, and my kid’s designed suits for us. I know that it’s hard, taking his spot, but it’s what he wanted.” She stitches him up, Peter groaning as she continued to talk. “And you aren’t my brother, because my brother was the freaking sun. No one compares to him. But he loved you, and I get why, now. Didn’t before, not really. But you were—you were his sun.”

“I’m in love with him,” Peter whispers, and god, does it feel good to say it. Like he’s been holding in all of this pressure and now he’s letting it go, by telling her. She stops stitching, pausing for a split moment, before continuing, but it seems gentler, somehow. Like she cares.

“Oh, Peter,” Sue sighs, and he begins to cry, his own blood soaked in the carpet and Sue Storm behind him, needle to his wounds.

“I should’ve told him,” Peter chokes out.

“We all have things we should’ve said, Peter,” Sue says. “The last day, I told him he was the dumbest person I knew. That he shouldn’t be on Fantastic Four.”

“He kissed me and then I didn’t talk to him,” Peter tells her. “And then he went and fucking died.”

“I like to think that there’s going to be a day where I see him again,” Sue says quietly, inspecting a bruise on Peter’s back. “I see him every night, though. Running around, holding this stuffed bear he used to carry everywhere. He was a cute kid.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles, and then Sue helps him up and pushes him gently towards Johnny’s bed. She tucks him in and kisses his forehead gently, and then turns off the light. Peter takes off his mask and drifts off, the ghost of Johnny’s arm resting on his side. He sees Johnny at night, too, curled around Peter in the early morning or warming up a hotdog, or flying or dancing. Some nights Peter kisses him. Some nights Johnny kisses him back.

He wakes up, and for a moment, if feels like Johnny is there, next to him, smell of expensive hair product in Peter’s vicinity, but he turns, and there’s no one next to him. Just a stark wall and cold blanket.

The world, Peter had noticed, was colder without Johnny. Everything was, even food that he overheated. It was like all of the warmth of the world had left with Johnny, and now Peter was left in the snow.

_Sorry about that, man. I’m so sorry, really. Didn’t mean too_, said Johnny’s voice in his head, and Peter shut his eyes, remembering that night, of Johnny grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer.

_It’s whatever, dude_, Peter had said back, but he didn’t mean it. He wanted Johnny to pull him close again, to kiss him again, to tell him that everything was alright and that he loved him back.

He remembers lunch, too, and that had been more painful than any fight.

_What happened last night? I was pretty wasted._

_You don’t remember?_

_Nope._

_Oh, nothing much, we just hung out._

He heard the disappointment in the _oh_, because he had never been all that good at leaving his emotions out of things, but Johnny hadn’t noticed and moved on to talk about something else. Crystal wanted to get back together, or something. Peter had been too busy thinking about Johnny’s lips on his to listen.

Peter got up, stretched, and was out the window in under five minutes, suit and mask on and repaired. Sue must have done it, because she was a fucking blessing.

There was an ugly white and black suit in his backpack, with a note. _Whenever you’re ready_. God, he wasn’t ready, to take Johnny’s spot. No one could replace Johnny, he was the sun, and you didn’t remove the sun without ruining everything.

He put the suit on anyways, hanging ol’ red-and-blue in the closet.

He had a panic attack after their first fight as a team, because Doom’s all _where’s the Human Torch? if only I was the one to kill him_ and Peter almost rips his head off. He takes it out on a dozen bots instead, webbing them together and swinging them around like a club at the other bots.

“Good fight, team,” Dr. Richards says, and Peter swings away before they can see him cry.

He ends up on the rooftop, from that cold and rainy November night, and he tears the white-and-black mask from his head and tries to breathe, tries to live, but he can’t, because Johnny’s not around, and Peter can’t live when Johnny’s not alive, because Johnny was the sun, and Sue said that Peter was Johnny’s sun, but god, Johnny was everyone’s sun, because everyone loved Johnny and it hurts to _breathe_ without him. It hurts to move and to think and to feel, when Johnny isn’t moving and thinking and feeling. It hurts to live, to keep living, when the boy who you loved was dead.

_Legends never die_ says Johnny, the Johnny that lives in Peter’s head, the Johnny who says one of two things, and one of them is an apology for kissing Peter, like kissing him was some huge crime Johnny was guilty for, and maybe Peter was guilty too, for wanting to kiss him back.

Peter tears at his suit, trying to get it off, because it reminds him of Johnny and the people that Johnny loved. The top of his suit rips, fabric tearing in his hands, and he starts to sob again, because he knows what Johnny would say if he saw Peter right now, ripping up his own suit and crying on someone else’s rooftop. _Jeez, Web Head, who knew you were that strong?_

Peter puts his mask back on and goes back to his apartment, his lonely fucking apartment, full of soup, which is depressing in more ways than one. He can’t even overheat it, because then it tastes like crap and explodes in the microwave. He doesn’t eat it, because he can’t. He feels so sick that he can’t eat, because he can’t eat if Johnny’s not eating, his body won’t let him.

It was the sixth week, as Peter’s time as a Fantastic Four member, that he thought he saw Johnny walking down the street, in his FF suit, smiling as bright as the sun. He walked towards Peter, casually, not a care in the world, and Peter watched him, trying to not cry, because Johnny was there.

_Legends never die_ says the Johnny that lives in his head, and Peter smiles and his hallucination of Johnny smiles back, and Peter reaches out to touch him, but his hand goes through Johnny’s arm, and then Johnny is gone, and Peter is alone on the sidewalk, his hand out to greet someone who isn’t there.

He eats overheated soup that night, and then chars a hotdog, like Johnny used to when he was annoyed with Peter. It’s disgusting, but it reminds him of Johnny, of his friendship and nights spent on top of the Statue of Liberty.

Most people moved on, although there were mentions of him on Twitter. Sometimes. If you knew where to look, and Peter knew where to look. God bless stan accounts. Three months was all it took, for the world to let go of Johnny Storm.

Peter can’t let go, because he’s never been any good of letting things go. He fights out his aggression, and they’re fighting, now, which is so typical of superheroes, and he still feels out of place, in his matching white and black suit.

“What are you wearing?” asks a voice behind him, and Peter turns, eyes widening. Sue threw up a force field and began to sob, and Johnny tugged on Peter’s suit in disgust. “Jesus Christ, this is ugly,” he says, and then Peter wraps Johnny in a hug, injuries be damned. Johnny Storm is fucking _back_, and he’s Peter’s best friend, and Peter needs a hug from him right now or else he’s going to implode.

“You aren’t allowed to die again,” Peter says, arms around Johnny’s neck. “I mean it, Flame-Brain.”

“Okay, Web Head,” Johnny grins, and then Sue and Reed and Ben are there, turning it into a group hug, and Peter is warm again. The feeling he’s got in his chest, having Johnny pressed up against him, warms him and calms him down, at the same time, and then Johnny’s resting his chin on Peter’s head. Peter doesn’t even complain, he usually would. But it’s Johnny, and Peter’s been missing him for too long.

Peter goes back to his own apartment, to let Johnny’s family take him in, to hang out with him and hold him and watch over him. Peter knows he would be intruding, so he goes home and puts on Johnny’s sweatpants and smiles to himself until the sky turns dark.

He puts his door back on the hinges finally, but he can’t get it exactly right. His solution to drink less water.

Twitter loses its collective mind with Johnny’s return. “The Return of Johnny Storm” is the top trend for four days, and on the fifth day of Johnny’s return, Peters curled up on his couch, wearing Johnny’s old sweatpants, watching Johnny step up to a podium in front of a hundred reporters and cameras.

He doesn’t register the _I’m gay_ part of Johnny’s speech for a couple of seconds, and then he has to pause the TV so he can freak out without Johnny talking over him.

Johnny Storm, _gay_. This was all of Peter’s far-fetched dreams dreams rolled into one, and the only part missing is Johnny’s declaration of love for Spider-Man. God, that would be great.

He unpauses the TV and checks Twitter, and sure enough, “johnny storm gay” is trending, along with #spideytorch, and god, that makes Peter grin from ear to ear. Maybe Johnny likes him. Maybe.

MJ: _looks like you’re getting a boyfriend, tiger_

_!!!!!!_ Peter sends back, and he presses his phone to his chest and smiles softly, listening to Johnny answer questions.

He’s warm, and he hasn’t been warm in a while, but Johnny is _alive_ and breathing and here and talking and feeling and everything else, and he could hate Peter and Peter would be happy.

Then Dr. Doom appears behind Johnny, and Peter sighs and changes into his suit hurriedly, swinging out of his window in civilian clothes and taking them off in the alley, wearing his backpack to the fight. He put it next to the FF’s car, and swung in next to Johnny, webbing a bot before it could hit a defenseless reporter.

“Hey, Web Head,” Johnny says, and then he flames on, and they fight together, a real team. Peter feels unstoppable, fighting next to Johnny, but he’s not. A couple of Doom-bots remind him of that, and he stumbles after the third hit to his abdomen. Johnny catches him, and then the fight is over, and Johnny’s carrying him like a baby to the car, picking up Peter’s backpack as he climbs in.

They go back to the FF building, and Peter makes Johnny laugh the whole time, ignoring his injuries to see Johnny smile. Ben ruffles Johnny’s hair half a dozen times, and Sue seems brighter, somehow, like her billion cups of coffee have kicked in. She winks at Peter once, after Peter cracks a bad joke and Johnny laughs so hard his hand lands on Peter’s thigh. Peter glowers at her, and she raises her eyebrows at him devilishly, and then Ben nudges him, and Peter regrets volunteering to sit in the middle.

“Haven’t heard you joke this much in a while, Spider-Man,” Dr. Richards says, and Johnny squeezes Peter’s thigh. Peter tries to not blush, but he’s got a mask on and they can’t see his face anyways. But Sue will know, she always knows.

Whoever has his voodoo doll must be in a hell of a good mood.

Johnny takes Peter back to his room when they get home, and he shuts the door, holding medical supplies. It makes Peter feel at ease, just him and Johnny. There’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

“I really missed you, Web Head,” Johnny says, and he’s pulling off Peter’s mask. Then the top of his suit, and Peter lets him, because Johnny could kill him, and Peter would still worship the ground he walks on. “But you’ve got to stop putting yourself in danger like this. FF could’ve handled it.”

“I’m fine,” Peter argues, and Johnny grabs an alcohol wipe and goes over the dried blood on Peter’s chest. “And maybe I wanted to see you.” He’s trying to make what he just said come off as lighthearted, but he knows it’s not working, and then one of the cuts stings, bad. Peter makes a face, and Johnny looks concerned, like he didn’t just come back from the dead. He was concerned about Peter, of all things. You’d think he’d be worried about his Twitter followers, or something.

“You’re never fine,” Johnny mumbles, and he steps closer to Peter, and instinctively, Peter leans towards him. Johnny bends down, to get a cut on Peter’s face, fresh wipe ready, and Peter watches his eyelashes flutter in concentration. He’s close, but Peter likes him close. It keeps Peter sane.

“I’m fine all the time,” Peter teases, and Johnny licks his lips.

“Yeah, you are,” Johnny says, and he looks back at him, and Peter knows he’s breathing heavily, but he’s nervous, because Johnny’s got this look in his eyes, like he’s hungry. Johnny closes his eyes and leans in, their noses brushing once, then again, and then Johnny’s hand is on the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter’s leaning towards Johnny’s mouth, and Johnny, freaking Johnny Storm, is leaning back, and it’s so much better than what the fanfic writers wrote about.

Ben opens the door before Johnny’s lips meet Peter’s and Johnny flies back. Peter turns and gives Ben the stink eye.

“Cookies?” Ben asks sheepishly, and Peter nods and accept the plate from Ben, and then Ben leaves, leaving the door open a smidge.

“Nice timing, idiot,” Peter hears Sue hiss, but Johnny doesn’t hear, so Peter counts himself lucky.

Johnny heats up a cookie, and Peter snatches it from him, bouncing it between his hands. Overheated, just like he remembers.

“Hey!” Johnny protests, but Peter shoves the cookie in his mouth. _Legends never die_, Peter thinks happily as Johnny heats up another cookie, and Peter steals that one too, so Johnny heats up four and hands Peter two.__

_ _“I’ve got to go home,” Peter says through a mouthful of cookie, and Johnny frowns. “Gotta fix something.”_ _

_ _“I’m coming over and burning that monstrosity you were wearing the other day,” Johnny says, talking about Peter’s suit, as Peter gets up to say his goodbyes to Sue, Ben, and Dr. Richards._ _

_ _Sue’s got the biggest shit-eating grin on her face when Peter walks towards them, and she’s bouncing on her heels. He’s so happy to see her like this, excited and bubbly. She’s not depressed Sue anymore, she’s Sue Storm of the Fantastic four. She’s herself._ _

_ _“So, is spideytorch canon yet?” Sue asks, and she waggles her eyebrows while Ben pokes Peter on the side._ _

_ _“It’s never going to happen,” Peter says, because Johnny had plenty of chances to kiss him again and he _didn’t_. The thing before Ben must have been some weird adrenaline high for Johnny, caused by seeing his family again. And he probably has some other guy in mind._ _

_ _“Don’t know about that, Buggy,” Ben says, and claps him on the back. Dr. Richards smiles warmly. Peter excuses himself before Ben puts himself in a hospital._ _

_ _“I’ll text you,” Johnny says as Peter climbs out his window._ _

_ _“See you later, Flame Brain,” Peter says, sticking to the wall. “Love you.”_ _

_ _“Love you too,” Johnny says after a heartbeat. “Look up for me, yeah?”_ _

_ _“Yeah,” Peter says, and he lets himself freefall before swinging home._ _

_ _It takes three days for Johnny to message. Three long day of Peter looking up at the sky and waiting for Johnny to tell him to meet him at the usual place, three long days of Peter waiting for his burner phone to ring. Three long days._ _

_ _He doesn’t stop looking up, waiting for Johnny to message him, even when it’s bright out, so Peter can tell him, because Peter’s decided that loving Johnny in secret was too hard. That maybe, they have a chance. He’s really hoping they do._ _

_ _The sky message comes a night. _Spidey, check phone_. Peter does, an address from Johnny sent._ _

_ _Johnny’s beat him to the rooftop, and it’s that rooftop, from a cold and rainy November night full of Johnny’s complaining and Peter’s chatter. He’s not too sure why Johnny’s picked this rooftop, of all the rooftops in Manhattan, but he’s got a feeling Johnny’s going to tell him._ _

_ _“I didn’t want to tell you this at our spot,” Johnny says. “Cause I didn’t want to ruin it, just in case.”_ _

_ _Peter nods, not fully understanding._ _

_ _“I need us to always be friends, because I need you. You’re my sun,” Johnny says, wringing his hands together. “Promise we’ll always be friends?”_ _

_ _“Who did you kill?” Peter asks, and then Johnny’s there, pulling up Peter’s mask and kissing Peter like a drowning man trying to breathe. Peter kisses him back, after a few moments, but Johnny pulls away too soon, his hand resting on Peter’s waist._ _

_ _“I’m in love with you,” Johnny whispers. “So there’s that.”_ _

_ _“I’m in love with you back,” Peter says, and he’s the one to kiss Johnny this time. The tabloids were right, for once—Johnny is an excellent kisser._ _

_ _“I realized that I loved you up here,” Johnny tells him. “That night, in November, a long time ago? Raining pretty bad. You were so cold, and I realized how much I wanted to kiss you. And then I kissed you, before everything happened, but I got scared. Really scared, that you didn’t love me back, so I told you that I didn’t remember.”_ _

_ _“That’s when I realized I loved you. That night, up here,” Peter says, shocked, and Johnny pulls him in close, running his fingers against a bruise on Peter’s neck. _Legends never die_, Peter thinks, as Johnny holds him close, Pete’s head leaning on Johnny’s chest._ _

_ _“I thought about you all the time,” Johnny says seriously, dragging Peter to sit on the ledge of the rooftop._ _

_ _“I’m always thinking about you, baby,” Peter drawls, poking Johnny’s ribs. Johnny smiles and rests his head on Peter’s shoulder._ _

_ _“I know who you are, Peter Parker,” Johnny says, tracing Peter’s knuckles._ _

_ _“How’d you figure that out?” Peter asks, and Johnny turns to him, eyes twinkling._ _

_ _“I had a lot of time to think, Peter Parker,” he says._ _

_ _“That must have been very hard for you,” Peter tells him, and Johnny shoves Peter slightly._ _

_ _“Don’t be a dick, Peter,” Johnny says. “It was easy, actually. You sell pictures of yourself for profit.”_ _

_ _“Yeah, I like eating,” Peter grumbles._ _

_ _“Back to yours?” Johnny asks, and they go home, Johnny flying beside him as Peter swings. Peter can’t stop smiling to himself, looking at Johnny fly next to him. He makes Johnny flame off before they get to Peter’s apartment, though, because the witch will definitely cast a curse if she sees a flaming lunatic near her apartment._ _

_ _Johnny falls asleep holding Peter’s hand, and that’s enough. It’s enough that he’s there, living and breathing and feeling and complaining that the door to Peter’s bathroom is broken, that he’s the little spoon when they watched a movie, that Peter’s Johnny loves him back, that Johnny’s Peter is the sun in his universe. Having Johnny will always be enough for Peter._ _

_ __Legends never die_ Peter thinks, and then he falls asleep too._ _

**Author's Note:**

> kudos are pretty neat don't you think


End file.
